


What Would You Do?

by indigo (indigo_angels)



Series: Mission Arc [21]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_angels/pseuds/indigo
Summary: Face encounters a strange type of enemy which follows him back home again after Mission number 79.





	What Would You Do?

**Author's Note:**

> There is a definite supernatural slant to this one, and some scenes which describe physical injuries.

When it first started, no one had any idea at all of the nightmare that was about to unfold around them.

 

They’d been back in the US for three days to recuperate after their latest mission and were spending their hours training, sorting kit and equipment, resting a little and biding their time until they were shipped out again to another corner of the globe.

 

It was always a little difficult when they spent time on the base, they were used to their own space, doing their own thing, being a law unto themselves to be honest – especially for Murdock who found being around a lot of people socially draining, especially for BA who found it irritating, especially for Face who resented the time he had to spend away from Hannibal and especially Hannibal who had to try and hold them all together. He eased the situation as much as he could by letting Murdock and BA off base more than regs allowed and by making up all kinds of reasons for Face to swing by his lodging at any time of the day – or night – whilst ignoring the sulks his Lieutenant threw over not being able to move in permanently.  

 

Face was, though, there when it began, lounging in the chair in Hannibal’s living area flicking through the intel notes he’d made for Hannibal on one of their next possible missions when his strangled cry got Hannibal’s eyes on him in half a second. He’d been about to snap at the kid, tell him to knock it off when Face had almost catapulted out of the chair and landed on the floor, writhing and gasping for air.

 

For the briefest of moments Hannibal had just stared; it was all too surreal to take in properly but then he’d seen the look on the lieutenant’s face and his guts had tightened in fear. Face had an expressive countenance and over the years Hannibal had seen it arranged in looks of anger and scorn, bliss and ecstasy, humour and grief but never had he seen it filled with so much pure, unadulterated agony. He flew to Face’s side, dropped to his knees and started trying to check the kid over, asking him question after question which Face could not answer with his jaw clenched so tightly in pain. His arms were folded around his gut though, clasped so securely that Hannibal couldn’t get in there, couldn’t persuade him to lessen his grip one tiny little bit and – knowing that this was a man who could stoically hike through ten miles of desert with a gunshot wound to the thigh and a concussion, leaned over to grab his phone and call for help.

 

The EMTs came from the hospital on base and were there in minutes asking just as many questions of Hannibal as the silent and writhing Face. What had he been eating? Was he on any medication? Have any pre-existing conditions? Did he dabble in illegal substances? Where had his last deployment been? Had he been drinking? Had he been acting differently at any time in the last twenty four hours?

 

Hannibal thought hard for every single question, desperate to find anything that would give them a clue as to why Face was in so much pain but there was absolutely nothing he could think of – absolutely nothing out of the ordinary at all; the EMTs seemed as confused about it all as he was. They gave him a couple of shots, neither of which seemed to make the slightest bit of difference to his level of pain and then, with nothing else available to them at the house, decided to take him to the ER.

 

Hannibal helped bring the gurney from the ambulance and between the three of them they lifted Face’s twisting body, having to strap it in place to keep him from falling back to the floor and then, just as they made their way along the narrow hallway to the front door – it all stopped.

 

At first Hannibal feared that Face had lost consciousness, the absence of his agonised writhing was so stark, but he looked over to find exhausted blue eyes in a pale and sweaty face looking at him with equal parts confusion and relief. “Has it stopped?” it was almost too good to be true. “Has the pain gone?”

 

Face shuffled slightly on the gurney, testing himself out a little as he straightened up and nodded cautiously back at his colonel. “Yeah,” his voice was rough and dry and his eyes drifted to the equally confused-looking EMTs, “What the hell was that?”

 

“I’m not sure,” one the EMTs, the one that Hannibal had identified as being the most senior, stepped forward. “Has the pain all gone? From everywhere?”

 

Nodding, Face shuffled around again so that he was now laid flat on his back. “It was just in my belly, that's all, nowhere else and now it’s all gone.”

 

“May I?” the EMT stepped forward as Face nodded and pulled up his t-shirt, gloved hands going to the flushed and sweat-shining skin of Face’s abdomen. “Tell me where it hurts.”

 

Face was silent though, all four men were silent as the EMT poked and prodded and palpitated Face’s belly, pressing harder and harder as his patient just shook his head. “It doesn’t hurt at all,” Face eventually repeated.

 

The EMTs looked at each other and the younger one shrugged before the senior one turned back to Face. “We’d still like to take you in though, Lieutenant. I’ve no idea what caused the level of pain you had, and I’ve equally no idea whether it will come back again.”

 

Hannibal braced himself for the inevitable explosion, Face had a loathing of hospitals that Hannibal had never really been able to explain or understand; it was an unfortunate trait in a man who seemed to injure himself with such alarming regularity, but one that the team had grown used to over the years. He had his colonel voice all ready, he was more than willing to make it an order for Face to attend the ER for a check-up, but to his complete astonishment Face nodded his head straight away. “Sure,” there was a tremor in his voice that betrayed the pain that had only just left him. “But let me walk in, yeah? I don’t need this,” he gestured at the gurney and the EMT nodded back.

 

\--------------

 

Face was in the hospital for a little under twenty four hours and he was perfectly healthy for every minute of that time. He was also subjected to every single test and investigative procedure known to man and each one of them came back clear. Hannibal had been sent home once Face had been settled and, desperate not to draw attention to their very unique relationship, he made sure that the staff knew he was Face’s next-of-kin and withdrew to return to his house and sit and stare at the phone.

 

He’d returned a little after lunch the next day to find Face lounging on the bed in his room watching a crummy day-time soap and looking very much back to his usual self, even with the shadows of fear that still lurked in the corners of his eyes.

 

“They say I can go in another hour or so,” he reported around a mouthful of Snickers. “As long as the last set of results come back clear.”

 

Hannibal nodded as he sat himself gingerly on the edge of the bed – he already knew that, had been told it in one of his many, many phone calls but it was good to hear that it was still the case. “Nothing to report then?” he knew the answer to that too, but wanted to hear it from Face’s own lips.

 

“Nah,” those expressive blue eyes drifted back to the TV, “They say it was probably just trapped wind.”

 

There was no answer to that as far as Hannibal was concerned, but he knew damn well that there was no way on this good earth that it had been trapped wind that had had Face in the most excruciating pain of his entire life. He nodded though, didn’t want to pop that balloon of comfort if Face wanted to hold onto it, but had no intention of letting the Lieutenant out of his sight at any time at all in the coming days and weeks.

 

“I’ve told the General that you’ll be moving in with me for the foreseeable future,” he kept his voice low and level, “and he agreed, says it’s important to make sure someone’s with you in case it comes back.”

 

He’d expected Face to be pleased at that news, knew that he hated the nights he spent away from Hannibal whilst they were on base but the utter relief he saw wash across the kid’s face was an unwelcome indication that Face wasn’t as convinced with the ‘trapped wind’ story as he wanted to appear.

 

But that was fine – if Face wanted looking after, then Hannibal was the perfect man for the job.

 

_____________

 

Face’s joy at being able to, legitimately, bunk round at Hannibal's place faded somewhat when he realised that Hannibal had firmly taken sex off the menu for the night.

 

“You are kidding me…” he looked so sad, more than his usual pouty dramatics, that Hannibal almost caved in to his demands, almost but not quite.

 

“Not tonight, kid,” he slipped under the sheets at Face’s side and gathered him close. “Let’s just have this one night off and then we’ll see. You’re not going home in a rush after all, are you?”

 

Face shrugged and Hannibal knew he didn’t ever consider his own studio apartment as anything like ‘home’. “I was looking forward to it though,” his little admission made Hannibal smile. “Been hard for you all afternoon…”

 

A cautious hand reached out and took hold of Hannibal's wrist guiding it to the significant bulge in the front of Face’s shorts and Hannibal had to bite back the sigh. “Come here then,” he tugged Face even closer to him and edged onto his own hip. “I’ll jack you off, kid, but that’s it though – right? Nothing else tonight, or in the morning, we clear?” He’d seen Face’s notes himself, knew that the kid had endured a colonoscopy and a cystoscopy - there was no way he could possibly be up for anything else after that.

 

Face didn’t complain, just turned into Hannibal’s grip with a happy sigh and buried his nose in the older man’s shoulder as Hannibal expertly worked him to completion.

 

It didn’t take long – within seven minutes Face had come, Hannibal had cleaned him up and he was already asleep, breath coming in soft little huffs against Hannibal's shoulder. Hannibal himself lay awake, his sleep and his libido stolen from him by the image of the agony in Face’s expression as he writhed on the floor of the room below them.

 

__________________

 

At first Hannibal thought it was just a nightmare – if not his then Face’s – but within seconds he realised that any nightmare would have been far, far better than the reality.

 

The pain was back, but this time Face was screaming, loud and long and animalistic in pain and terror as desperate hands clutched vainly at the right side of his torso. Hannibal didn’t try to talk to him, didn’t try to reason or examine or comfort, he just grabbed the phone and got the EMTs on their way again.

 

It was the same crew that turned up, their eyes dark as Hannibal let them in, Face’s screams more than audible on the porch of the house.

 

“Same as before?” the senior EMT asked as they jogged upstairs.

 

“It’s his side this time – and if anything it seems even worse than before.”

 

Like Hannibal, the EMTs wasted no time in trying to treat Face in situ, instead they simply bundled him onto the gurney and out into the dark night beyond. “It’s okay,” Hannibal was running to keep up as they jogged to the waiting ambulance, “It’s okay, kid, it’s all going to be okay.”

 

But was it? How could he say that when no one even knew what on earth ‘it’ was? And if someone had told him, at that point in his life even as Face screamed and writhed in front of him, would he have believed them?

 

No. Absolutely, certainly not. Who in their right mind would have?

 

__________________      

 

They wouldn’t let him into the treatment room and Hannibal felt awful for the relief that surged through him once the double doors swung shut and took Face’s unearthly screams with them. He slumped into a plastic seat and sat there, staring emptily at the vending machine in front of him as the sky outside the single window lightened to a washed out grey.

 

He was oblivious to the comings and goings around him, oblivious of everything save the worry in his head and the memory of those screams. Trapped wind? No; he’d never thought it was but surely the staff here would see that as well now, they’d seen Face here before, treated him for all manner of injuries whilst he’d joked and flirted and tried to discharge himself at the first possible opportunity. Surely they could see that this was completely different?

 

A discrete beep in his pocket had him pulling his phone out to a message from Murdock asking about Face and how he’d slept. For a long moment, Hannibal stared at it and then rose slowly to his feet, walking to the doorway to make a very difficult phone call.

 

The waiting room was pretty much as he’d left it when he returned less than five minutes later. Murdock had promised to call not only BA but the General as well and Hannibal knew in his head that the rest of his team would be down at the hospital before the hour was up. The receptionist behind the desk looked up as Hannibal walked in and rose from his seat in order to catch the other man’s eyes. “Colonel Smith, sir?” Hannibal froze as his heart went into overdrive. “You can go through and see the Lieutenant now, they have him settled and comfortable.”

 

Comfortable? All Hannibal could hear in his head were those screams. He nodded though and headed towards the double doors, “Thanks. This way?”

 

“Yes sir, I’ll take you up.”

 

They walked down a long corridor and then took the elevator to the third floor before Hannibal was shown to a room and nodded once more as he tapped on the door and walked in. It was all quiet, thank the Lord, and the room was empty apart from the still figure in the bed. Hannibal's chest tightened as he saw how pale Face was, how small and exhausted he looked banked up under the covers on the bed. He was awake though, his eyes, dark-shadowed and red-rimmed, turned Hannibal’s way and a wan smile was forced out in greeting.

 

For the second time in far too few hours, Hannibal perched on the edge of the bed, his back to the door and carefully picked up Face’s hand from where it lay on the covers. “How you doing?” he kept his voice low, “Still hurting?”

 

Face shook his head and licked his lips, squeezing Hannibal’s hand in his before replying, “No, it’s all gone again.” His voice was barely audible and very hoarse and Hannibal's chest clenched as he realised it would be as a result of all the screaming.

 

“So,” reaching out, Hannibal brushed away a curl of hair from Face’s forehead, surreptitiously checking for a temperature at the same time. “What have the doctors said then?”

 

Face just shrugged, “Nothing,” talking seemed difficult for him and so Hannibal decided to leave his questions for the time being, squeezing his hand again as he scrutinised Face’s expression carefully.

 

“You want anything? OJ? Hot drink? Something to eat?”

 

Shaking his head, Face let his eyes slide closed, “No. ‘M just tired.”

 

Silence fell in the little room, and Hannibal sat and watched as Face drifted into sleep, his heart clenching as he realised that the kid had probably been waiting for Hannibal to get there before he felt secure enough to let himself go. He sat and waited, his terror slowly abating as a list of questions built up in their place and he was right in how long it took BA and Murdock to come creeping into Face’s room, their eyes full of the worry that Hannibal knew was also reflected in his own.

 

“He okay, now?” this was BA, his dark eyes worried in the way that Hannibal hated to see.

 

“For now,” Hannibal watched as Murdock leant carefully over the bed, studying Face’s sleeping expression with a look of utmost concern. “But until they know what it was, they don’t know if it will come back.”

 

“They have no idea?”

 

“None at all,” Hannibal cleared his throat a little awkwardly, “I was hoping to go and talk to the doctor about it…”

 

“We’ll watch him,” BA’s response was immediate. “Take as much time as you need.”

 

Hannibal nodded and reached out to clasp BA’s shoulder as he rose to leave. He’d made it to the door of the little room before Murdock spoke for the first time, his voice obviously trying to sound far more relaxed than he felt. “Is there anyone out there, bossman?”

 

Hannibal frowned for a moment before opening the door and looking up and down the empty corridor. “No. Should there be?”

 

Murdock smiled, a thin and unconvincing one, “Nope, just wondered, that’s all.”

 

For a moment, the three men looked at each other in silence and then Hannibal just shrugged and left as BA muttered, “Crazy fool…” under his breath.

 

________________

 

It took Hannibal ten minutes to find out who was responsible for Face’s care and then another twenty minutes before he was led into the doctor’s office for what he hoped would be some answers.

 

“Colonel Smith,” the doctor was one that Hannibal knew, had been in service almost as long as Hannibal himself had been and he’d treated the team on more than one occasion over the years.

 

“Captain Holbrook, how are you doing?”

 

“Fine, fine thanks, and you?” Hannibal nodded. “I’m guessing you’re here to talk about Peck?” Hannibal nodded once more and Holbrook sighed. “Sorry we’ve not kept you more in the loop, I didn’t realise you were his next of kin.”

 

“It’s in his notes.”

 

“I know, but I was only given his case after he was admitted last night and I hadn’t had the chance to look at them until now – you have my apologies.” Hannibal nodded again, at that point, all he wanted was an explanation, not an apology. “He’s an orphan? No other family?”

 

“That’s right.”

 

Seemingly satisfied, Holbrook shuffled his notes and looked Hannibal in the eye. “You ever seen anything like this before? In any of your men?”

 

Hannibal shivered. No – he’d never seen it before and he never wanted to see it again. Despite all the horrific things he’d seen and done over the years somehow this was by far the very worst. “Never.”

 

Holbrook paused. “Not even in Captain Murdock?”

 

For the first time since Face had first experienced the phantom pains, something other than worry and fear sparked in Hannibal’s heart and he had to make a huge effort to reel in the edge of anger. “No. And I don’t see what the Captain has to do with any of this.”

 

This time Holbrook sighed and looked back at his notes. “Are you aware of the amount of testing that has been performed on Peck since his first admission the other day?”

 

“I am, yes.”

 

“We have run every single possible test available on him.”

 

“I know, and we’re grateful for that.”

 

“They all came back clear.”

 

“I’m aware of that.”

 

“And yet the pain returned.”

 

Hannibal leaned forward. “Is there a point to this?”

 

Again, Holbrook sighed. “How familiar are you with the symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Colonel?”

 

For just a moment Hannibal couldn’t answer as the anger inside him raised its head once more but he successfully swallowed it back down again. “You think Face is making this up?”

 

“Not making it up, Colonel, not at all. I believe that the pain the lieutenant is experiencing feels very real to him.”

 

“But you think it’s all in his head?”

 

“I believe it is psychosomatic, yes.”

 

Again Hannibal forced himself to bide his time, to make sure that he was considering this possibility very carefully before he answered and not just reacting emotionally. “I have worked with Face for nineteen years, Captain, and I have seen him in more stressful situations than you could possibly imagine. I’ve never seen those situations get the better of him though, and our last mission wasn’t particularly difficult at all, it was a humanitarian mission, delivering aid, helping families, nothing like some of the things we’ve been involved in in the past.”

 

Holbrook shook his head. “That’s not how these things always work, Colonel. It doesn’t have to be one, particularly stressful moment that can set off a bout of PTSD, it can simply be a reaction to everything that’s happened over a number of years. It’s very common in special ops guys, the things that you have to do…”

 

Hannibal flushed. “Face does not have post-traumatic stress disorder, Captain. He is not _imagining_ this pain, it’s real.”

 

“I know it’s real. It’s his body’s way of calling time out and asking for a break from it all. It’s not something he can imagine discussing with you and so his body has taken events under its own control.”

 

Biting back the unhelpful retort of, ‘Face knows he can discuss anything with me’, Hannibal again forced himself to examine the diagnosis seriously. He cleared his throat. “So, presuming that anyone agrees with you here,” he ignored Holbrook’s frown. “How would you suggest we progress?”

 

“Okay,” Holbrook pushed a form Hannibal's way. “We need to get the Lieutenant admitted into the Mental Health ward at-”

 

“No.” Hannibal never moved an inch but he knew that every ounce of his Colonel persona reverberated through that single word and stole Holbrook’s air before he could get any further. “Face isn’t going into a mental health facility, he’s staying right here so that he’ll be best placed to be helped when – if – the pain returns.”

 

Holbrook shook his head, “There’s nothing physically wrong with him! We’ve run every single test we can think of-”

 

“You’ve treated Face before, right? Shrapnel to the belly if I remember correctly?” Holbrook nodded. “And you saw him last night? When they brought him in?”

 

“I did yes, and-”

 

“And it was different, right? The pain, the distress, the _fear_? That was all different?”

 

“It was.”

 

“And you’re saying that his mind can do that to him? Can persuade him he’s in that much pain? Scare him so badly that he doesn’t want to be on his own?”

 

“The mind is a very powerful thing, Colonel.”

 

“You ever seen this before? This bad? In another soldier?”

 

This time it was Holbrook who was silent, repeatedly popping the button on his pen until he looked up and met Hannibal's eye. “Not like this, no.”

 

Hannibal nodded. “Then he stays here. You want to assess him for PTSD then fine, get someone in here and start the assessment but he stays here and you keep on looking for what’s causing this because I know Face far, _far_ better than you and I’ve seen plenty of soldiers with PTSD over the years and I’m telling you – that is not what this is.”

 

There was silence in the little room as the two men started at each other then Holbrook started scribbling on the notes in front of him. “One week, Colonel, and that’s all. I don’t have the resources here to deal with purely mental health issues for any longer than that.”

 

“Okay,” Hannibal rose to his feet and extended a hand for shaking although he promised himself that there was no way on this earth he was going to let Face be carted off to a mental health unit until they were all absolutely convinced that there was nothing physical behind this pain.

 

__________________

 

“Hey, bud. What you doing?”

 

Murdock swung back from the window as Face’s scratchy voice reached him across the room. “Nothing,” his smile was bright although it struck Face as a little off. “Just looking. How you feeling?”

 

“Fine,” and he was - apart from the cold fear that tugged at him and soreness to his throat; he could even still taste the metallic tang of blood from where his screams had actually made his vocal cords bleed…         

 

“You want something to eat? Some soup or something?” Face’s stomach rumbled and Murdock smiled at him again, a far more natural one this time. “I’ll go get you something.”

 

“No!” the speed with which Face’s had shot out and grabbed Murdock’s wrist shocked them both and Face had to swallow hard in order to push the fear back down and away. “I’m okay for now, maybe when Hannibal gets back. Where is he by the way?”

 

“Seeing the docs I think,” Murdock’s scrutinising stare was making Face feel uncomfortable. “But BA’s gone down to the restaurant, I’ll just text him, get him to bring you something up.” Face nodded and sank back into the pillows once more, feeling the flush of humiliation at his own weakness in his cheeks.

 

___________________

 

Hannibal came back to find Face lounging in the bed with BA at his side and a ball game playing on the TV whilst Murdock stood at the window, his eyes flicking backwards and forwards across the parking lot. He couldn’t miss the way that Face’s expression washed with relief at his reappearance and felt bad that he’d been away so long, taking the chance to do some of his own research into PTSD before he returned.

 

“What did the doc say then?” there was no missing the anxiety in Face’s voice as Hannibal sat on the edge of the bed once more and picked up the offered hand.

 

“Nothing much,” he made sure he held the kid’s eyes, after all, he’d taught him – almost – everything he knew about how to play a good con, the last thing he needed now was for Face to start doubting him. “Just that nothing physically wrong with you has shown up and so they’re just going to keep their eye on you, monitor you for a while.”

 

Face didn’t respond to that, just let his eyes draw back to the game as BA and Hannibal started up a conversation about things that Face would need from Hannibal’s house and Murdock stood and stared out of the window, his fingers steepled to the glass and his breath fogging his view.

 

When it returned, it came on as quickly and silently as the very first attack. One second Face was laid back in the pillows, sipping Gatorade through a straw as he impartially watched a touchdown being scored, the next the bottle was spinning across the floor and Face himself was rigid in the bed, his eyes wide, his lips curled back in a horrific grimace of pain and his hands clamped to the sides of his head.

 

“BA, get some help,” Hannibal was on his feet in a second, his hands on Face’s cheeks as he tried his best to soothe the agony. “Murdock? You got your phone? I want you to film this.” In Hannibal's head there was no way that this could possibly be psychosomatic and he wanted a visual record with which to seek a second opinion but when he looked up from Face’s anguished eyes, he found that Murdock’s space by the windows was empty. His frustration was short lived though, and his eyes drawn back to Face as he heard his name gasped out through airless lips. “I’m here, I’m here,” the fear in that expression was horrific, “the doctor’s coming as well.”

 

Hannibal could see how hard Face’s hands were pressing into his head, how hard he was squeezing to try and block at the pain and how desperate he was to make himself heard, “My head…” the words were nothing but a pained breath.

 

“I know, I know…”

 

“It’s going to explode…”

 

Fear clenched even harder at Hannibal’s heart but before he had chance to respond the door burst open and a fleet of medical staff came rushing in.

 

“Excuse us, Colonel,” a nurse was pushing Hannibal back from the bed, “we need some room to work.”

 

Hannibal withdrew to the wall next to BA and the two stood in silence, watching Face’s rigid body as the medics tried to ease his agony, pumping drugs into him, trying to get him to speak, trying to get him to move his hands from where they were clamped to his head. “Where’s Murdock?” Hannibal hissed, more from a desire to say something other than any real need to know.

 

“This is hard for him,” BA’s voice was low and Hannibal knew that the last thing the big man wanted to do was to worry Face any further. “He can’t watch this, it’d tear him apart.”

 

That was understandable, Hannibal knew that it shouldn’t bother him, but to have a genuine reason not to have to watch this – to be able to pretend that it wasn’t happening – Hannibal would have given anything for that.

 

It went on and on and on, minute after minute of agony for everyone and the heart-rate monitor that the staff had attached to Face was going crazy as his heart struggled to cope with the pain flaring in his head. More and more drugs were pumped into the tube flowing into the back of his hand and eventually, slowly, the death grip Face had on his head lessened as he finally slipped into an uncomfortable unconsciousness.  

 

As Face sank reluctantly into the mattress, the horde of people clustered around his bed slowly lost their edge of tension as well. At Hannibal's side, BA slumped against the wall and ran an unsteady had over his face as two or three of the medics left the room, Holbrook amongst them, his eyes refusing to meet Hannibal's at any price.

 

“He’s comfortable now,” the nurse who was talking to them still had the blanched look of horror in her eyes that Hannibal knew they’d all been wearing. “And he’ll sleep for four or five hours.”

 

“Will the pain be there when he wakes up?” BA’s voice was gruff with anxiety and made the nurse flinch a little.

 

“We don’t know,” she recovered herself pretty well even though she was far from at ease. “Until we find out what’s causing the pain, we’ve no way of telling.” Her smile was apologetic and BA nodded his thanks as Hannibal cautiously approached the bed and took hold of Face’s cold and limp hand.

 

______

 

Two hours passed in silence as Hannibal stared at Face’s sleeping countenance and BA stalked impatiently from point to point around the room finally settling at the window just as the light of the day started to seep out of the sky above them.

 

“What’s that fool think he’s doing out there?”

 

BA’s voice made Hannibal startle and he looked over, a frown creasing his brow. “Who? Murdock?”

 

“Yeah,” BA was shaking his head as his eyes followed the Captain’s movements out of the window. “Damn fool’s just walking up and down through the lines of cars, looking in them all – he’s gonna get himself arrested if he don’t watch out.” He turned at that, made to go out into the corridor and no doubt haul Murdock back in but Hannibal rose to his feet instead and blocked his path.

 

“It’s okay, BA, I’ll go get him.”

 

BA didn’t look convinced and his eyes jumped to Face’s still figure and back again. “You sure?”

 

“I’m sure.”

 

Hannibal walked quickly, his heart thumping loudly against his ribs in anticipation of goodness only knew what. He found Murdock just where BA had seen him, tracking up and down through the lines of cars, his eyes darting frantically around him like spooked minnows.

 

“Captain,” this time it was Murdock who startled and his expression took on a guilty edge that always made Hannibal worry.

 

“Yes, sir, Colonel, sir?” he even saluted which only worried Hannibal more but then his eyes flicked up to the window where BA was watching them both and his expression grew almost tragic. “Face?” it was like he didn’t want an answer. “Is he okay?”

 

Hannibal sighed. “He’s okay. He’s sleeping for now, what comes next we’ll have to see.”

 

Murdock nodded glumly and, even as Hannibal watched, he began to turn his attention back to the cars around them, checking them out one by one, the furrows on his brow etched deep in worry.

 

“Murdock,” he jumped again, afforded Hannibal a quick glance and then started to make his way down the ranks of cars once more, considering each one carefully as he passed.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What’s going on, son?” Hannibal was keeping pace with him, was watching him carefully could see the anxiety buried deep within him.

 

“Going on?” Murdock let out a little high-pitched laugh. “Nothing, bossman, nothing at all.”

 

It wasn’t a convincing story by any measurement and Hannibal tried again. “What are you doing out here?”

 

“Ummm,” Murdock looked edgy now, his eyes flicking up to the window and back again as he licked his lips. “It’s just,” he shrugged, “Face was in real pain, you know, and…” he shrugged, “It was selfish of me, I know.”

 

“So why are you out here?” Hannibal repeated knowing Murdock well enough to see that he was missing a few key parts of the puzzle and this time the Captain turned to him, conflict written right across his face.

 

“Out here?”

 

Hannibal sighed. “If this is to do with Face and what’s going on with him, I need to know, do you understand that? He could have died in there, the pain might kill him yet – if there’s anything you know, I need it, Murdock. I _need_ it.”

 

Murdock nodded and was back to licking his lips as he tracked a car pulling into a space a few metres to their left. “There’s nothing to _know_ though, Hannibal,” his voice was a barely-whisper. “Not for certain.”

 

And that got Hannibal's heart beating even harder than it already had been. “Tell me what you think then, Murdock. Share your thoughts.”

 

The wildly flicking gaze landed on the ground beneath his battered sneakers. “You’re gonna think I’m crazy…” Hannibal had to strain to hear him.

 

“Have I ever thought you crazy before?” and that got Murdock’s eyes back on him.

 

They waited in silence, Hannibal forcing himself to remain patient as he could see Murdock arguing with himself over what to say. Finally, a decision was reached and Murdock drew himself up a little, his eyes not quite managing to land right on Hannibal's face.

 

“When we got to the hospital earlier, I thought it was odd but I saw a woman in the corridor, just along from Face’s room and I know her and I can’t remember where from.” Hannibal waited as Murdock twisted his fingers together anxiously. “And the thing was, I’d seen her the other day as well, when I left your house she was waiting at the bus stop but I didn’t think of that until I saw her this morning.”

 

Hannibal frowned, struggling a little to keep up; it was always Face that understood Murdock’s ramblings the best.

“So that’s where you knew her from? Outside the house?”

 

“No – I know her from somewhere else but I just can’t place it,” he banged the heel of his hand into his forehead three or four times whilst Hannibal floated the ideas around in his head.

 

“I don’t know what this has to do with Face…” he eventually admitted.

 

“Neither do I,” Murdock’s eyes were now boring right into Hannibal's with an intensity that the older man found disconcerting, “But I just know she’s got something and anyway…” he stopped and looked away and Hannibal leaned closer.

 

“Anyway what?”

 

Hannibal saw the breath that Murdock let out. “Anyway – shewasrightinthecorridoroutsideFace’sroomand youcouldn’tseeherandBAcouldns’tseeherandnoonecould – except me.”

 

After feeling that he was ready for anything that Murdock came out with, Hannibal was unnerved to find himself lost for words for more than a few minutes whilst Murdock went back to checking the cars. Eventually he recovered enough to speak again. “So,” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “She’s a ghost?”

 

Murdock let out a little laugh and looked sideways at Hannibal. “No. Ghosts don’t exist.”

 

Hannibal frowned. “Was she there again? When you left?”

 

Again a sideways look, “No – that’s why I’m looking for her and trying to remember where I know her from,” he hit his forehead once more, “But it’s not coming back – and I don’t know why!”

 

“It will,” Hannibal took hold of Murdock’s wrist to stop him from hitting himself again. “As soon as you relax a little it will – just wait and see.”

 

Shaking his head, Murdock went back to checking cars whilst Hannibal glanced up at the silhouette of BA watching them from the orange rectangle of light that marked Face’s room.

 

“Murdock,” he called again as the pilot paced on, “Come back inside with me.”

 

“I can’t,” Hannibal could almost taste the agitation. “What if she’s here? In one of these cars?”

 

“What if she’s up there?” Hannibal countered. “BA won’t be able to see her. I won’t be able to see her. What if she’s up there? With Face?”

 

Hannibal felt bad for that when he saw the stricken expression on Murdock’s face but it did the trick as the Captain immediately veered off towards the door back in to the building. “You’re right!” Hannibal had to jog to keep up with him. “I need to stay with Face, that’s what I need to do! I need to be there in case she comes back again!”

 

“You do,” Hannibal reached out to press the door release catch, “And you’ll tell me, yes? If you see her? Anywhere at all?”

 

Murdock nodded earnestly as they ducked back into the yellow warmth of the hospital.

 

____________________

 

The night passed slowly as they took it in turns to nap on a put-up cot in the corner of the room. It was in the dead of the night, dark and quiet even in the busy hospital, when Face stirred in the bed and turned himself to Hannibal.

 

“Hey, boss.”

 

Hannibal was at his side in an instant, big hand smoothing hair away from his boy’s face, sad smile pulling at his lips. “Hey sweetheart, how are you doing?”

 

A flicker of surprise ran through Face’s expression as he took in Murdock’s sleeping form in the chair at the side of the bed and heard BA’s quiet snores across the room. Hannibal did like to use pet names from time to time, unlike Face, but usually when they were in bed together and if not then never in front of anyone else – not even Murdock and BA. His own half smile fluttered in response, “It’s that bad, huh?” he asked, shifting slightly as if testing out how much he hurt. “The docs come up with anything, yet?”

 

“No,” Hannibal hoped that his poker face was up to scratch. “Still nothing. Maybe they’ll run some more tests tomorrow.” And maybe they would, but Hannibal was starting to worry that whatever it was that was affecting Face wasn’t the type of thing that medical practise could identify.

 

Face just shrugged though and gingerly eased himself up until his back was pressed into the pillows, hands going to rake through his messy hair. “I feel gross,” he moaned. “I must stink and when was the last time I washed my hair?”

 

Laughing a little, Hannibal resisted the temptation of proving how gorgeous Face looked by kissing him; he knew how much feeling dirty bothered the kid. “There’s a shower in there – you feel up to trying it out?”

 

There wasn’t a pause before Face nodded, “God, yes… Let me at it.”

 

Hannibal watched, trying not to make Face feel like he was under scrutiny, as he climbed from the bed and stretched himself out. “No aches and pains?”

 

“None. I’m fine.” Neither of them said it but it was obvious that they were both just wondering how long it would last. “You tried the water yet? I mean, it better be hot because if not-” They both stopped as the door popped open, turning to see who was coming in at such a late hour they watched as it slowly swung around on its hinges, squeaking slightly as it travelled all the way around to bang against the doorstop set into the carpet.

 

And there it settled, the corridor outside lit up brightly but silent and empty, not a sound or a soul could be heard – despite the brightness of the lights, Hannibal felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as gooseflesh broke out up and down his arms. He looked at Murdock who was frowning slightly in his sleep then back to Face as he stepped towards the gaping door.

 

“Fucking draughty hospitals. Good job I wasn’t naked, last thing I need is-” This time his words were stolen by a strangled cry as he collapsed in a heap behind the bed, the sickening crack that preceded his fall turning Hannibal’s blood to ice.

 

“Murdock! BA!” Hannibal scrambled to Face’s side as his men sprang into instant wakefulness, “Get some help in here!”

 

BA was out of the door in a flash, his deep voice echoing as he called down to the nurses station, his eyes widening as he saw Face on the carpet, face white in pain as he clutched at his lower leg which was now twisted into a grotesque right angle jutting out at mid-shin.

 

“It’s okay, you’re okay…” Hannibal tried to soothe him, tried not to let him look at his leg, but Face was gasping in agony, his eyes wet as Hannibal grabbed him.

 

“My leg… John… my leg!”

 

“I know, I know…”

 

Footsteps sounded and Hannibal looked up as BA and a nurse skidded around the corner towards them, Murdock nowhere to be seen. “What happened?” he nurse dropped to her knees opposite Hannibal. “Did he fall?”

 

“Yes,” Hannibal was desperately trying to keep Face’s grasping fingers from his leg, “But I swear I heard the break _before_ he fell.”

 

“ _Before_?” the nurse’s confused eyes met Hannibal's even as more footsteps sounded down the corridor, “Are you sure?”

 

Hannibal opened his mouth to answer but before a single word could come out, the room was filled with yet another blood-chilling _crack!_ that had Face choking in renewed pain and his other leg also bending out at an agonisingly unnatural angle.

 

The nurse looked up at her colleague who was peering in through the door, both their eyes wide in horror, “Get a doctor and get some morphine in here, quick!”

 

She vanished again and Hannibal was back to holding his boy as Face writhed in agony, any ability to speak being stolen by the pain shooting up his legs. “BA!” he was at his side in a moment, “Go find Murdock and anything he says, go along with it. Do you understand me? _Anything!_ ”

 

Confusion warred with horror in BA’s eyes but he nodded and vanished down the corridor as running footsteps approached from the nurses’ station.

 

Minutes passed as the two nurses worked and Hannibal did his absolute best to hold Face still as he writhed in his arms. There was nothing to be done for his legs, it looked like all four lower bones were broken and indeed one had ruptured the skin of his left leg, the end of the bone poking out white and ghastly, a trail of blood snaking down the sweat-slicked skin. The nurses instead gave him oxygen to combat shock and injected him with morphine that Hannibal knew wouldn’t help and waited for the doctor to arrive.

 

It was probably only another five minutes before Holbrook came sprinting down the corridor, his own eyes widening as he took in the scene in front of him. “Okay,” he was all business though, taking command instantly as Face buried his head in Hannibal’s lap. “You given him pain relief?”

 

“Yes. 10mg, morphine.”

 

“How long ago?”

 

The only answer that the doctor got though was another _crack_ , sickeningly loud this time and quickly followed by Face’s choked off cry of pain as his right leg bent again, this time mid-thigh, another horrifically unnatural right-angle appearing and Hannibal’s patience was rapidly thinning as he held his frantically thrashing boy in his arms. “For God’s sake _do_ something for him will you??”

 

Holbrook’s face was white as he quickly rose to his feet. “Get a trolley in here. Carol, get an OR prepped immediately and Dr Silken down here _now_ , we need to see what’s going on in his legs.”

 

The nurse vanished and could be heard shouting instructions to the other staff as Face tugged at his oxygen mask with shaking fingers. “Hannibal…”

 

“I’m here, kid, I’m here…”

 

“Don’t let them take my legs off – please, boss, don’t let them, don’t let them…”

 

Hannibal looked up, expecting to see Holbrook’s comforting shake of the head, but all he got was an empty and bleak stare. At that point, another crack tore through them all and this time it was Face’s right femur that shattered, sending the body in Hannibal’s arms into spasms of pain followed by a heavy slump and then – nothing.

 

“Face!” Hannibal slid out from underneath the now-dead weight, his heart pounding in terror.

 

“It’s okay,” this was Holbrook at Face’s side once more, “he’s passed out, probably best in the circumstances.”

 

A clatter behind them announced the arrival of the trolley and, after spending as long as they dared in supporting Face’s mangled legs, the assembled staff loaded his ashen body into place and then were gone, running down the corridor towards the OR and Hannibal was left behind, his eyes staring at the single drop on blood on the carpet that told him that this nightmare was very much a reality.

 

_____________

 

“She was here!”

 

The door to Face’s little room burst open and Murdock strode in, BA on his heels, to find Hannibal sitting in the chair at the window, one of Face’s discarded t-shirts gathered in his fingers.     

 

“She was here?” Hannibal felt his heart kick up a gear. “Where? _When_?”

 

“In the room when I woke up and Face was on the floor. So I saw her and she knew I’d seen her and she went again.”

 

“What?” Hannibal frowned, “She walked out?”

 

“No!” Murdock was anxiously wringing his baseball cap in his fingers and BA was leaning against the wall, wearing the stoic expression he saved for the absolute worst situations. “She just vanished but then she kept on coming back, down the corridor, in the next door room, trying to get close to Face every time, I’m sure she was.”

 

“And now?”

 

BA shifted slightly. “We’ve been all over the hospital and Murdock aint seen her for about thirty minutes. He reckons she’s gone.”

 

Hannibal looked at him, “Did you see her?”

 

“No.”

 

“And that’s not all Colonel,” Murdock stepped forward, his eyes and his hair equally wild. “I’ve remembered who she is.”

 

____________________

 

When the door to Face’s little room opened once more, Hannibal was surprised to find Holbrook walking in, his face grim and barely forty minutes since they’d rushed Face into theatre. Hannibal rose to his feet, his back clammy, his hands shaking “What’s happened? Is there a problem?”

 

Holbrook shook his head and sat roughly on the end of Face’s bed, taking his glasses off to rub at his eyes. “No, no problems. We’re just making the Lieutenant comfortable again, he’ll be back in here as soon as he’s done.” 

 

“Back?” Hannibal didn’t understand. “But what about his legs?”

 

“His legs are fine,” Holbrook blew out a long breath and held Hannibal's stare as he reached into a large envelope at his side. “These are the x-rays we’ve just taken in theatre.”

 

With shaking fingers, Hannibal took the offered sheets and held them up to the light as he looked them over, image after image of perfectly aligned bones, no sign of cracks or breaks anywhere. He shook his head, “But we _saw_ them, he _heard_ them, we all did!”

 

“I know,” it seemed that that was all Holbrook was willing to say about any of it.

 

“So they’re fixed, then? Perfectly alright? Nothing wrong them at all?”

 

“Perfect.”

 

Hannibal let the x-ray fall back to the bed and sat heavily in his chair, the relief he felt over Face’s miraculous recovery tempered by the cold fear he just couldn’t shake from inside his heart. “So – now do you believe he’s not got PTSD? You ever seen PTSD snap limbs then miraculously heal them again?”

 

For a long moment Holbrook said nothing, just stared at the floor and its single drop of blood before he slowly climbed to his feet. “To be honest, Hannibal,” his voice was as flat as Hannibal felt. “I don’t know _what_ to believe.”

 

Hannibal sat in silent thought long after Holbrook left the room.

 

________________

 

The afternoon was heavy and overcast but the heat hit Hannibal the second he left the belly of the ‘copter, ducking under the downdraft, his shirt already sticking to his back and rivers of sweat trickling down the inside of his combats.

 

“Colonel Smith, sir! Over here!”

 

Hannibal turned to the voice and lifted his hand in greeting to the young man who was signalling him from next to a battered old jeep at the side of the landing strip. He jogged over and the two men shared a salute before Hannibal waved the Private into ease and climbed into the shotgun seat of the jeep. “Good to see you again, Private, you my chauffer for the day?”

 

“Certainly am, sir, _Hannibal,”_ Private Kapersky offered up a shy smile for his slip and looked more than pleased with the arrangement, “Welcome back to Haiti, I didn’t expect to see you here again so soon.”

“No,” Hannibal braced himself against the bumping of the jeep over the rutted terrain, “I never really intended it.”

 

“And to be honest, I’m not really sure why you’re here at all.”

 

Hannibal could feel Kapersky’s eyes on the side of his head but refused to shift his gaze from the banana plants they were currently speeding by; he would never admit to being unsure on that front himself. “A little bit of sightseeing,” he said instead when it became clear that Kapersky was going to need something, “Revisiting a few haunts from last month.”

 

That explanation obviously filled in very few blanks but there was no way that Kapersky was going to question the Colonel further, instead he just gunned the engine a little more and offered, “Port- au-Prince, then, sir? You want to start there?”

 

Hannibal thought back to his talk with Murdock, the Captain’s conviction that he knew who the mystery woman was who had appeared at the same time as Face’s mysterious illness, and shook his head – in for a penny… “No thank you, Kap, let’s start in Grand Goave,” he could feel his cheeks flush at the ridiculousness of it all.

 

“Grand Goave?” Kapersky was still staring at him, “There’s nothing much left there, Hannibal…”

 

“I know thanks, Kap. I was there remember.”

 

“No, after that,” the Private had dutifully turned the jeep the correct way though. “The earth quake caused a huge landslide to come through the town, took almost everything away. Anyone we hadn’t evacuated was killed.”

 

At that, Hannibal turned and looked at his informant, the piercing blue of his eyes obviously making Kapersky uncomfortable. “Wasn’t evacuated? I thought we got everybody out?”

 

“Almost everyone,” Hannibal held on tightly as Kapersky hit a pothole, “There were those who refused to leave. A couple of hundred at least.”

 

Hannibal dwelt on that in silence as they bounced eastwards.

 

_______________

 

Kapersky was right and there was very little left of Grand Goave that Hannibal remembered, as badly damaged as it had been. He and Kapersky left the jeep and wandered aimlessly through the debris strewn mud until Hannibal came to the place he’d been looking for, right on the edge of the town where the scrubby mangroves met the sea.

 

“There was a hut here, just a little one, wooden, corrugated iron roof, single occupant. Amazingly it was still standing when we got here.”

 

Kapersky was flicking through a file he’d brought from the jeep, his finger tracing names carefully. “Yeah, you’re right. Single woman, Bidechaina-Charles Hilaire.”

 

Hannibal turned to him, “What happened to her.”

 

“We got her out – I remember this one, she didn’t want to come, remember?”

 

“I remember.”

 

“This was one of Face’s I think, the one woman in the whole damn Caribbean who was immune to his charms!”  Kapersky’s laugh ground to a halt as Hannibal remained poker faced and instead he went back to his file, his face flushed a little red. “Yeah – we got her out, she was evacuated to the Red Cross centre over at Carrefour.”

 

“Yeah?” Hannibal turned back to the Private, “Let’s go there then.”

 

________________

 

The Red Cross Centre at Carrefour was like something from the very edges of humanity. Tent after tent after tent was crammed onto a dusty patch of mud and all around hollowed eyed Haitians sat and waited and watched and wondered what they’d done wrong to end up in such appalling conditions.

 

The Red Cross workers were obviously doing their best; every tent had cots and mosquito nets, there were huge water tankers standing at regular intervals and filling up plastic containers by the dozen, there were medical tents and cook tents, something that could have been an orphanage or a make-shift school and another huge tent where workers sat at tables with the displaced locals, going over forms and files and futures.

 

This was where Hannibal and Kapersky started, splitting up to try and cover as much ground as possible, speak to as many people as possible. It didn’t go well. According to the records, Bidechaina-Charles Hilaire was still in the camp, but when pressed, no one could actually remember seeing her at any time at all.

 

It was later afternoon when Hannibal gave into his desire to see what was happening back in the States and found a quiet corner of the operations centre, jumped onto their Wi-Fi and put a video call through to BA.

 

“Hey, Hannibal.” The corporal looked tired, but he didn’t look distressed at that was good enough for Hannibal at this point in the game. “You found anything?”

 

Hannibal shook his head. “Not really. How is he?”

 

The phone in BA’s hand swung in a sickening arc and Hannibal was treated to a grainy image of Face sleeping in the hospital bed before it was gone again and BA was back.

 

“He been asleep this whole time?”

 

Knowing he hadn’t imagined the quick look that BA had sent Murdock’s way, Hannibal tried to keep the thundering of his heart down to acceptable levels as the only answer he got was, “Hang on,” and then a long shot of BA’s jeans as he slid through the door and down the corridor towards the stairwell.

 

“Well?” Impatience was making Hannibal snappy and as soon as BA’s face came back into view he was waiting for his explanation.

 

“He’s okay, man, don’t panic. He’s settled, he’s sleeping, he’s okay.”

 

“But?” Hannibal wasn’t at all stupid and BA sighed a little, eyes drifting to the side rather than hold Hannibal's stare.

 

“He felt sick, a few hours ago, so we got him one of those paper bowl things and sat him up, waited to see if he’d start puking.”

 

“And did he?”  
  
Still, BA avoided Hannibal's eyes, “Yeah, he did, but – the thing was…” BA rubbed at his brow.

 

“What?”

 

“Well, it wasn’t just vomit that was coming out.”

 

“Wasn’t just…?” Hannibal's mind was whirling around this. “So – what else was there then? _Blood_? Bile? What?”

 

BA looked just about as distinctly uncomfortable as Hannibal had ever seen him, fidgeting and looking around and rubbing a hand over his mouth in a gesture he’d picked up from Face and then finally, _finally_ , looking Hannibal's way. “Toads,” the revulsion in that one word was clear. “He was vomiting toads, Hannibal. Real, live, toads. Huge bastards as well.”  

 

“ _Toads?”_ of all the things that BA might have said, that had never featured as far as Hannibal had been concerned. “Fucking _toads_?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“How many?”

 

BA shook his head, “I dunno, fifty? Sixty? None of us were counting.”

 

“Jesus…”

 

“Yeah.”

 

The two men stood in silence at either end of their call, each of them trying to wrap their heads around what the hell was going on.

 

“Hannibal,” BA rarely sounded so lost. “What is this? What’s happening to him because, I have to say, this is freaking me out.”

 

“I know, Corporal.”

 

“And the staff here,” he shook his head, “Half the nurses won’t go anywhere near him, one of the porters had to go home hysterical… Holbrook doesn’t have a clue what to do with us – apart from put a guard on the door that is. What the hell _is_ this?”

 

“Has Murdock seen her? Since I left? Has she been there?”

 

“He says so, yeah. Says she’s been looking in through the window.”

 

“The window?” Hannibal rubbed his head. “He’s in a third floor room!”

 

BA just met his eyes, “I know.”

 

_____________________

 

As soon as Hannibal headed back to where he had left Kapersky, he found the private rushing towards him, piece of paper in his hand, his face flushed with the heat. “I think I’ve found her!” were his opening words. “One of the volunteers here says she’s in a shack in the woods not far from her own village. Says she’s been making a bit of a nuisance of herself there.”

 

“A nuisance?” Hannibal was already stalking back to the car, “In what way?”

 

Kapersky shrugged and Hannibal noticed him looking a little more uncomfortable than the heat of the day should have made him. “You know, the locals have their beliefs around here, Hannibal, and they stick to them pretty firmly. Any crazy goings on, it’s always attributed to the weird old lady living out on her own. I guess it’s the same in any culture.”

 

“What type of crazy goings on?” Hannibal’s heart was pounding in his chest as they reached the jeep.

 

“Well, Emmeline said that there’ve been reports of screaming and yelling in the trees, smoke, animals have been found without their heads, blood streaked on trees, a lot of the neighbourhood dogs have gone missing – you know, the usual hocus pocus type stuff.”

 

“Black magic?” the two men looked at each other across the hood of the jeep.

 

“I guess so, though round here it’s called red magic, the people really believe in their evil spirits.”

 

“You seem to know a lot about it, Kap?”

 

The Private shrugged again and swung himself into the jeep, “Been here a while now boss, makes the world run a lot smoother if everyone knows everyone else’s motive and beliefs. Live and let live and all that.”

 

Hannibal followed him in and couldn’t help wondering how peaceful the world would be if everyone had the same outlook as Private Kapersky.

 

____________________

 

It took them twenty minutes to reach the little village of shacks that Emmeline the volunteer had told them about and Kapersky parked the jeep at the bottom of a muddy track up the hill just as big, fat raindrops started to fall from the leaden sky above.

 

“Up there, boss,” he gestured to the track. “That’s where she’s supposed to live now.”

 

Hannibal nodded and looked up at the densely packed trees. “Okay, I’ll go up and talk to her, you wait here.”

 

Kapersky looked less than thrilled at that idea though. “But Hannibal, sir, I’m supposed to stay with you at all times.”

 

Forcing out a laugh, Hannibal turned back from his scrutiny of the lush rainforest. “You think I can’t manage talking to an old lady on my own now, do you?” but this time it was Kapersky that remained poker faced.

 

“I don’t think you’d come all this way just for a chat with a harmless old lady, boss.”

 

The two men regarded each other stoically. “I’ll be fine,” Hannibal reiterated. “Wait here, I won’t be long.”

 

“Twenty minutes,” Kapersky called at his retreating back, “Then I’ll come up after you.” Hannibal kept on walking, smiling at the, “Sir!” that was tagged on at the end.

 

The rain steadily increased in both volume and power as Hannibal trudged through the mud, following a track of sorts through the trees. The leaves protected him from the very worst of the rain but by the time the ramshackle shack came into view, he was soaked to the skin.

 

At first he thought that maybe ‘shack’ was far too generous a word for what he found, it was a simple lean-to arrangement, open at both ends with a fire burning smokily inside it, but then all thoughts of a more suitable noun were eradicated when, like a phoenix, a dark shape rose up from the smoke and the gloom and Hannibal found himself squinting to try and make out who it was.

 

“Colonel Smith,” suddenly, she was right in front of him and he found himself taking an inadvertent step back. “I didn’t expect to see you in my home.” Her speech was heavily accented with lilting French tones, but Hannibal was surprised at the strength to her voice. She must have only been about four and a half feet tall, her body shape disguised in the wrapped layers of clothing, heavy despite the cloying heat, but what she lacked in height she made up for in sheer _presence_ and Hannibal had to force himself not to take another step back as she advanced further, a bony hand reaching from the folds of her clothes to shake his hand.

 

“Have we met before, Mme. Hilaire? You must forgive me if I don’t remember.” Hannibal hadn't been with Face for her evacuation, Murdock and Face had handled it whilst Hannibal and BA had moved further down the shore. They shook, her hand was cold and this time Hannibal had to fight the urge to wipe his fingers on his combats once she’d let him go.

 

“No,” Hilaire was looking up at him, her dark eyes calculating. “I haven’t met you. I’d remember if I met you.”

 

“And I you, Mme.,” Hannibal finally felt like he was getting back a little of his composure.

 

Hillarie laughed and turned back to her fire, poking at it with a stick. “Can I offer you some cocoa tea? It’s all I have that’s spare.”

 

“Thank you,” the pause had been infinitesimal but Hannibal was sure that Hilaire had noticed it as he stepped in from the pounding rain. “That would be good.”

 

She gestured him to a log as she dug around in a pile of belongings at the base of the tree pulling out a couple of beaten up tin cups, both of which she filled with liquid that was bubbling over the fire before almost seeming to fold in on herself as she sat opposite him, her dark eyes watching him closely as he took a sip of the scalding liquid. “It’s nice, thank you,” and it was, tasting faintly of cocoa but sweet more than anything else. Hilaire nodded, satisfied, and went back to staring at Hannibal as she sipped her own tea.

 

“What can I do for you then?” she finally asked as Hannibal seemed content to wait her out.

 

“Have you lived here long?”

 

The question seemed to surprise her which had been Hannibal's intention all along and she shuffled slightly on her haunches, tossing her dark braids back over her shoulder before she answered, “In Haiti, all my life. In this place?” her lipped curled slightly and unmistakable anger flashed in her eyes, “Only a few weeks.”

 

Hannibal sipped at his tea and tried to keep the pounding of his heart to an acceptable level. “Only a few weeks? Why?”

 

Hilaire laughed and tossed her head back showing a mouth full of white and gleaming teeth. “I moved, that’s all.”

 

“It’s nice,” Hannibal was happy to play her game, for now. “Must be a step up from your old place?”

 

It was a low blow, he’d planned it to be just that, but he hadn’t expected her to spit at him in retribution. “It is a _pit,”_ she hissed viciously, “I lost everything when I was taken away from my home! All of my family’s history, everything I need for my craft! My safety, my security, I can’t even have the sound of the sea soothing me to sleep on a night! Do you know what that’s like, Colonel? To lose everything? To lose the thing most dear to you in all the world and not be able to do anything at all about it?” She stared at him, the red rims of her eyes mesmerising and then she smiled, “I think maybe you will.”

 

“So that’s what this is?” Hannibal's voice was low, dangerous, all pretence of bland politeness gone. “You lost your home in the earthquake and so you’re wreaking revenge to make yourself feel better? Torturing an innocent man to try and redress the balance?”

 

Hilaire scoffed at him. “Innocent? Do you even know what that means? How can a _soldier_ be innocent? How can _he_ be innocent?”

 

The hairs on the back of Hannibal's neck rose at the vehemence with which she spoke. “He is innocent of any harm you’re feeling – and that should be enough.”

 

“He took me from my home. He stole _everything_ from me.”

 

“He saved your life. If you’d stayed then the landslide would have killed you too.”

 

“Then that’s the way it should have been!” Hilaire leaned forward, stretching over the fire, her strangely dark eyes probing at Hannibal so intently he could almost feel it. He let the silence build though, swallowed any impassioned pleas he wanted to make, nothing about this situation made any sense at all and so he let Hilaire simply watch him whilst he forced himself to wait, forced himself to play this carefully and bide him time.

 

“What would you give? To save him, _cher_? I’m wondering that.” Her voice was low – eminently dangerous.

 

“You should be asking yourself the question of what would I do to _you_ if you hurt him again.”

 

She cocked her head at that, examining him, those dark eyes flashing with enjoyment even as her teeth glistened pearly white through the smoke. “What would you do?” suddenly, her voice was smooth as ice. “You’ve travelled all this way, tracked me down – you haven’t come to make idle threats so come on – what would you do?”

 

Hannibal leaned in to meet her, ignoring the stinging smoke and the heat from the flames. “I’d kill you – you have to understand that, right? Now I’m here to warn you – you hurt him again and I will kill you.”

 

Hilaire laughed. “An officer like you? An officer from the _US Army_?” her laugh was strange and piercing. “Kill a civilian woman? An _old lady_? No, John Smith – you wouldn’t kill me.”

 

Snakes of fear roiled in Hannibal's stomach but he kept his game face well and truly in place and held her black eyes over the top of the fire. “Most people who underestimate me end up dead.”

 

Again the silence, Hilaire seemed darkly amused as she scrutinised Hannibal and after long minutes her face broke into an empty, mocking grin. “I have something to show you,” she reached into the folds of her filthy clothes. “I got it ready when I knew you coming, I think it’s something you’ll like.”

 

She held her fist up in the swirling smoke and Hannibal blinked, clearing his eyes, drawing back for a better look and as his eyes focussed his heart stuttered in terror, “No…” the word was pulled from his lips without him even knowing.

 

“You like it?” Hilaire was back to laughing, her voice lilting and mocking as her filthy fingers gripped the little straw doll, mindless of the two needles sticking out from where you would imagine the doll’s eyes to be or the trails of bright red liquid that ran from those points. “Just think, all this time when you’ve been here, sipping my tea, he’s been like _this._ You think it hurts him? You think he’s screaming? Even now? If you weren’t here I could go to him, hear it for myself…”

 

Hannibal lunged at her, his hand swiping through the smoke as she was suddenly right across the other side of the clearing, the ghastly doll in her fingers, her whole face lit up in excitement. “Ah, ah, ah!” she wagged a finger in Hannibal's direction. “Ou panse li ta ki fasil, zanmi mwen an? What would you _give_? What would you _do_?”

 

“Take them out,” the horror in Hannibal's mind was stealing his ability to think. “For God’s sake just take them out!”

 

Again Hilaire cocked her head at him. “None of your _God_ here,” the words were almost spat. “Enough of you people coming to my land and thinking you know what we should be doing, where we should be living, deciding when we live or die! Enough of that! Now _I’m_ the one who gets to make some decisions!”

 

“Take them out,” Hannibal took a step in. “You think I’m, what? Too _principled_ to kill you right here with my bare hands?” he shook his head. “You’re hurting one of _mine_ – I’d kill you twice over for that.”

 

Hilaire’s grin widened at those words. “You’d have to catch me first.”

 

Hannibal sprang for her and she seemed to vanish instantaneously, appearing behind him out in the rain, her head thrown back in laughter, the doll still grasped in her bony fingers. “You are getting past it, Colonel, if you’re too slow for an old lady like me, and you won’t get your way like that, anyway! I want to know what he’s worth, what you’d pay to save him. Would you pay in blood? _Your_ blood? How much would you give for him? Every drop?”

 

“Give me that doll.”

 

“Would you die? If I asked you to? Would you plunge a dagger into your own heart? Cut off your own leg? Your own arm?”

 

“I’m warning you…”

 

Hilaire’s humour vanished. “No, Colonel, I’m warning _you_. You can’t win by your rules, only mine. You want to see what happens when you _don’t_ use my rules?”

 

Hannibal stepped forward even as Hilaire thrust her fist up into the air, ignoring the rain as it poured onto her face and the little clearing was rent apart by a blinding flash. For a glorious moment Hannibal thought that the elements had come to his aid but the flash was back and Hilaire was laughing again and beautiful arcs of lightning forked from the sky to strike the little straw doll over and over again.

 

“I need a price!” Hilaire’s voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. “A payment, retribution, recompense! What’s it to be, Colonel? What will you _give_?”

 

“Here…” there was a sob in Hannibal's voice as he stumbled across the muddy ground, he arm outstretched. “Stop, just, stop! Take this, take everything, just stop hurting him…”

 

Hilaire’s arm dropped and her eyes flashed down to Hannibal’s hand, just long enough to realise she’d been fooled, not quick enough to quite get out of the way. They went down together in a slippery heap, Hannibal just managing to keep a hold on the ratted folds of her clothing as they went, his desperate fingers half a metre from the charred and smoking doll.

 

“ _Fout myed_!”

 

Hannibal gasped as Hilaire’s swinging foot caught him in the groin and with the pain she slipped away, falling flat on her face again as Hannibal's desperate hand caught her ankle.

 

“I will kill him!” She flipped onto her back, her dark eyes wild as the rain poured on them and Hannibal's swinging fist stopped as the gleaming knife blade slid flat against the doll’s belly. “I will _gut_ him! You ever seen a man’s innards slide out onto the floor?”

 

“No!”

 

Hannibal wasn’t quick enough to stop the knife slicing through the straw but he had her now, hauled her closer by one leg as he struck with his fist, cracking into her jaw as she flung the little doll as far away as she could. Her cry of pain and shock was drowned out by Hannibal's own yell of horror as, by bad luck or dark design, the doll arced gracefully through the air and landed plumb in the smoking fire. Abandoning his prisoner, Hannibal scrambled to his feet, his boots slipping and sliding in the mud as he threw himself at the fire, shoving his hand, unthinkingly, into the flames and drawing the sad little doll out.

 

It was already alight though, tiny orange flames licking at the damaged straw and Hannibal just thrust it into a standing bucket of water holding it there, feeling for the pins with his other hand and drawing them out as his heart pounded in fear and terror.

 

By the time he heard the steps behind him he already knew it was too late, already knew she was too close and anyway, the only thought in his head was for the doll, was about protecting the doll from her even if it cost him his own life. His turn was lightning fast and maybe if he’d had a weapon he may have stood a chance but she was right there, her dainty white teeth flashing red with her own blood, her eyes wild and desperate as the machete above her head caught the light of the fire. There was only time to hold the doll behind him and to wonder if his death would be clean and fast before the clearing erupted in a huge _bang_ , and then another and Hilaire flew backwards, the machete almost thrown from her fingers as her dark cloak exploded in a grotesque red flower.

 

Hannibal whirled back again and there was Kapersky, sidearm still smoking in the rain, his saucer eyes on Hannibal and the doll gripped in the Colonel’s burnt fingers.

 

“Hannibal?”

 

“Check she’s dead,” it wasn’t over – Hannibal knew that – or maybe it was and that would be even worse and as Kapersky ran to do his bidding, Hannibal dragged his phone from his pocket with shaking fingers and huddled under the shelter of the lean to. It took him three attempts to get the call to connect and then he was almost certain it wouldn’t be answered at the exact second that BA’s face came into view. It was the blood that seized his attention though, the splatters up the side of BA’s face, the arc that he could see painted across the wall behind his Corporal and a sudden, paralysing fear seized him. “BA?” it was all he could get his throat to utter.

 

“He’s okay, he’s okay…” BA was shaking, Hannibal could actually see it on the tiny screen, and the noise in the background was panicked and chaotic.

 

“I want to see him.”

 

BA closed his eyes, “Hannibal… man…”

 

“I want to see him.” There was a pause, Hannibal had to lean against the tree as his whole body started to tremble in pure fear, his grip on the little straw doll painful to his burnt fingers. “I want to see him, _now_.”

 

There was a moment when Hannibal was sure BA was going to say no, but then he shook his head and the camera turned and everything was blurred and then there was Face. The room was wrecked, blood and water and charred furniture everywhere and Face was laid on the floor in a huge pool of dark blood, almost naked as burnt and smoking clothes were being cut from his body by Holbrook and Murdock. His skin was unmarked though, streaked in blood and soot and water, but unmarked, his eyes clear and the relief that Hannibal felt surge through his body was almost enough to drop him on his butt.

 

“Hannibal!” the voice through the tinny speaker of his phone had never sounded so good and Hannibal had to blink to get his eyes to clear enough to see its owner as he stared up through the little screen. “Boss! Are you okay?”

 

Hannibal was shaking, his burnt hand was throbbing, his balls were bright points of agony but was he okay? He’d honestly never been better.

 

“Yeah, kid, yeah. You?”

 

Face nodded but it was watery and tenuous and Hannibal’s arms ached with the desire to hold him, “I’m fine. Is it done?”

 

Hannibal swallowed, “It’s done.”

 

Face’s eyes closed, just for a moment, then they were back again, their blue boring into Hannibal through the miles. “Come back home,” was all he said and Hannibal nodded – it was all he needed.

 

_________________________

 

The cool of the early evening raised goose bumps on Hannibal's skin as he stepped out of the plane and onto the tarmac stand. His eyes were immediately drawn to an unmistakable figure standing at the edge of the grass, hands in pockets in an easy stance that utterly betrayed the appalling nature of the last week. Hannibal thanked the pilot and shouldered his kit bag, wincing as it tugged on his heavily bandaged hand and made his way across the metres that separated him from his boy.

 

Face smiled as Hannibal approached and slid a hand from his pocket to lift it in greeting – both of them very aware of the public nature of the base.

 

“Boss,” he nodded at the swathes of bandaging, “Looks bad…”

 

“It’s hardly anything. How are you?”

 

Face smiled but it was empty and flat and Hannibal could see the frayed edges to it. “I’m untouched,” he held his arms out at his sides so Hannibal could see. “It’s like none of it ever happened.”

 

It wasn’t – it would never be that – but Hannibal knew what he meant and to know that he would at least avoid physical scars was a relief in parts. He nodded and wished he could hold him now, kiss away all that lingering fear and trauma, make it all go away in waves of pure, beautiful pleasure.

 

“You want a lift home?” Face had started walking and Hannibal wondered when he’d managed to get hold of his kit bag and he nodded again, following in his wake, speeding up so they could walk shoulder to shoulder, enjoying the tiny point of contact until he could get what he really needed and it was at that moment he realised what that actually was - what the only important thing was now.

 

“Yeah, and I want you to stay. Can you do that?”

 

Face flashed him a look, the relief clear in his expression. “Tonight? Sure, if that’s what you want.”

 

“No,” they were at the car now, no one close enough to hear but plenty of eyes still, plenty of reasons to stay careful. “Not just tonight, every night. I want you to move in, let your place go, bring all your stuff over. I want you with me every night, can you do _that_?”

 

The pause was almost non-existent, but it was still enough to get Hannibal's heart pounding again but then Face was smiling, a far more genuine smile this time, as he opened Hannibal's door. “Yeah.”

 

And for Hannibal, that was everything.     


End file.
